Eternal Life
by The Broken Chain
Summary: A scene after the war for the ring has ended, in celebration, with Legolas quietly suffering in the presence of a new enemy: time. Time will win in the end, taking away all that matters most to him, especially his closest, dearest friend, Aragorn. Friendship/Hurt-comfort/light-pairing, Legolas and Aragorn, rated T (I guess) for a light kiss. Movie/book world.


A/N : Firstly, this is a work of fan-fiction, and in no way do I claim ownership of the Middle Earth world, character's within (namely Aragorn and Legolas), or anything to do with Lord of the Rings or J.R.R Tolkein.

That being said, thank you for reading this! I wrote it ages ago, and though I've since improved, I still think this is an okay piece of work. It has its flaws, so please, if there are any continuity errors, I apologize, and would welcome criticism of the work.

This is a safe, non-triggering fiction. It could be seen as a pairing, or a unique friendship. You may decide for yourself!

Thanks for reading.

* * *

Eternal Life

Indeed, the time of war was over, and the beginning of the fourth age was dawning upon us with a welcomed air. Gondor had a crowning victory perched on its shoulders, and with the threat rising from the south gone, it could begin to repair its walls and set up stronger boundaries. The men and women could be seen with less weight on their backs in the reconstruction process than in all of the time they spent scared and starved in the Third Great War.

Of course it was all joyous news, and lightened my heart greatly. Not only for the sake of my own well being was I happy, but for the well being of Aragorn, King of Gondor, and my dear companions. How could one be sad in such a safe time, with their friend's alive and living well? Even through the veil of genuine happiness, I knew that the one thing that I could not fight would prevail, no matter how many arrows I pull from my quiver or what other weapons I have in my belt. In the time of war, of Orc slaying and hopeless travel, I had been able to forget it for a time, which in the end was the problem. Time.

Of the peaceful nights I had of quiet slumber in the giant halls of Gondor, I reflected on my fleeting time with my mortal friends, crying silently as each day brought me closer to their demise. I felt like I slept beside a seeping hourglass, the case impenetrable as I find out after vain attempts that I cannot stop the sand's passing.

I never let slip my tongue to these worries, neither to the vacant open air of the forest or to my closest confidant. To voice them, I knew, even if the feeling was shamefully child like, would make the pain of it sink in further, and make it even more real. To acknowledge the passing of time is to concede to its inevitable flow.

Aragorn, my trusted, my loved, would die, if not by the fall of a sword, then by the merciless swipe of the ages. It is all I see when we talk, and it is all I think about when we are not together. I feel, in times of solitude that not even the trees can help in comfort, frightened as I realize my reflection remains the same. How indeed can I think of this in such times? I cannot help the fear that overcomes me, or stop the trembling in my bones when I am weak with thoughts of death.

Aragorn, in a night of celebration, followed me from his grand halls and glorious feasts, when I quietly excused my self to find isolation. I didn't know it, even with his human foot falls, that he approached. Even when it became obvious, I was still only half aware that I was in his presence. After watching him acting so merry with the young hobbits and dancing with his beloved, Arwen, I could stave off the dark feelings I had reserved for night time no longer. He called my name, but, for the first time I heard the sound, I ignored him. It would not be fair for him having to see me the way I was, on the verge of tears.

"Legolas!" He shouted, grabbing my shoulder to stop my hasty retreat. "Where might you be going at just the start of the festivities?"

"No where." I said, keeping my back to him. We were at a dead stop, in the jutting court yard of Gondor's peak, perched under a watchful sea of blazing stars. Aragorn, instead of persisting, tried to turn me to face him, but failed when I regained my composure and began walking. "Legolas!" He bellowed, a tone I knew not of as a friend but as King. I stopped again, under obligation as my father's representative to oblige the King of Gondor and as a friend. It was my own fault, I knew, that he had to use his position to persuade me. It still hurt to be talked to like that, and dug deeper with his following words. "To where is the Prince of Mirkwood so urgently fleeing?"

"Might not my friend be trying to shame me? I am not fleeing, but simply taking a walk to enjoy the cold air and chip trees. You choose your words too freely, Aragorn." I didn't turn to address him, merely staring out across the peaks edge into the sleeping mountains. Successfully, painfully, I forced down the moisture in my eyes, aware that he approached.

"Legolas." He whispered softly, stopped only a few feet behind me. "You know that is not what I mean, for I am simply concerned at how distant you seem as of late. Why do you not face me?"

I swallowed, the response I practiced and recited in my mind dying when my composure faltered. Could he not see that I wished for solitude? With the second of hesitation, one which Aragorn was sure to have noticed, I regained my voice and quickly said, "I am quite alright, dear friend, but I am touched at your concern, though I need it not. Go and rejoin your people, I will be back shortly." With that, I began to move again, but was stopped in my effort when another kingly call echoed from the peak. "Legolas, face me."

Slowly, I turned to face the King, composing my facial expression to that of indifference as I calmly replied, "Why are you suspicious of me? Have I done something to earn your skepticism?" I stopped my self from cringing when I saw the battle marks on his skin, and the slight graying in his eyebrows. He didn't notice my observation, for which I was grateful. He raised an aged eyebrow at my slightly rushed comment, taking yet another cautious step toward me. "What ails you? For you seem deeply troubled."

For a few seconds, our eyes locked, his probing my own with certainty that something was wrong. I tried to keep calm under the harshness of them, but grew weary when they never relented. I smiled, the small pleasure of seeing the youthfulness in his eyes bringing some hope into me. He didn't smile back, instead resting a firm but comforting hand on my shoulder. "Tell me what ails you, for I might be able to help."

"Aye, dear friend, I am afraid that there is nothing you can do about this." I released my hold on my stubbornness, allowing some fear-forged emotion show through my eyes. He wears the mask of concern painfully well, and melts me even further into a confession. "I have seen many ages pass with the virgin beginnings through to the into the crippling endings; I have seen good men die, carried away as easily as they were brought about with the setting of the sun; I have seen wars, I have won wars, and I have seen them carried out yet again with the same ignorance that negated the ones previous to it, carried out without the knowledge gained or the loss of men. Indeed men have been repeating this endless cycle of birth, war, and death forever, and none have affected me as you have. I am grateful for you presence, I am _intensely _grateful to have been granted it. But, with the age of war gone _for now_, I cannot, in the face of the knowledge that I had denied, help but count the passing days until the inevitable. I cannot stop the sand from falling, and in the end, you, my friend… will be gone… Now that I have told you, may I go seek solitude, my King?"

He sighed slightly, more understanding than I could have wished for, bracing my other shoulder with his right hand. "Legolas, my friend, do not address me as such, for I am nothing without out you. But we will not linger on that… Why did you not tell me this before? I knew that you struggle with the briefness of my time with you, but I never knew the extent…" He brought me into a compassionate hug, wrapping his arms around mine and burying his head into my shoulder. I shuddered, shaking underneath him. I was caught off guard, and after a second it took to recover, I returned his feelings, wrapping my arms around his waist and squeezing.

"Aragorn…" I mumbled, tears streaking into his kempt hair. "I do not want this friendship to pass…"

"My care and compassion for you will live long after my death. Do not think that life and death could separate friends." Aragorn spoke into my neck, hiding, for he too cried. "I do not wish for you to cry over me. Do not waste those tears…"

"They are not wasted." I sighed softly, trembling but feeling the weight on my shoulders lighten with what I shared with Aragorn. "I love you."

"As I do you. Do not linger on the future when the present is at hand; enjoy this time with me, however brief it may be." Aragorn withdrew from our embrace, having to fight as I was unable to release him from my hold. The tears did not cease, and after a moments thought, he allowed them to find a place on his shoulder.

"I shall say it again, though I do not want to stop you in your way: these tears are wasted on the likes of me, and although I am touched, I cannot say that they are valid."

"I am right in my grief, for it is inevitable." I choked, trying to steady my chest and relax my hold on him. "How can you not be dissuaded by this? How can you not find fear in the concept of nothing after death?" Aragorn chuckled at my childish question, making me feel even worse although I was sure that was not what he intended. "Have you not asked me this before? For the answer will be the same: I am not afraid of death, for it is not such a scary thing, such as being tortured or underneath Sauruon's rule is. It will mean simply sleeping forever, sleep being something I have had very little of, and eternal peace, which is something I never had. And I know that long after I am gone, you shall be there, alive, whole, and will be able to remember me. It seems to me that death, if not done cruelly, is a gift; just like being blessed with life from the Valar, it is a reward for years of toil and heart break. Is that not all someone could ask for?"

I knew that was not what I meant, or the answer I wished to receive, for if he were in some part scared, than I would not be alone. But with his following words, I pulled back and gawked at him through tears: "Aye, no it is not, because wherever I may go, if anywhere, I shall not have you with me. See now that I have let up some of my fears, I am amused that you look at me as such; is that not what you wanted to hear? For I assure you that I am genuine." I stared at him, allowing him to see me at my most vulnerable. I continued to stare rudely, _gawking_, trying to take in what he said. Surely he didn't know how I felt all this time? He stared tenderly back, seeing the insecurities play across my face. I opened my mouth to speak, but stalled, a rasp the only sound that escaped me. I tried again, this time barely clearing a whisper, "Do you mean…that you too are…"

"Frightened? No, I am not. But I am concerned for your wellbeing, seeing as how strongly you feel about this."

I nodded slightly. "Do not be… "

"How can I ease this pain?"

I stalled. I knew that what I wanted was both too much to ask, and if done, would promise even more pain in the future. His eyes begged me to say what I denied, to spill a secret that had never seen the light of day. I hesitated. To coax the truth from me, he cupped my face with his calloused hands, rubbing my cheeks with his thumbs like he always did with Arwen. I inhaled deeply, feeling my lips grow dry.

"Go on." He urged.

I smiled, unhopeful and fearing the words that were to follow. "Kiss me, and I shall never worry again."

There was a pause—a pause in which his expression turned from tender concern to confusion. I felt like fleeing, my bones ached to do so. But it was said, the deed was done. If I were to run away, he would not relent, nor give in to a chase.

I was surprised when he smiled. "You lie. Surely a kiss would do you good for now, yet with time it would grow to torment you, eventually in the inevitable end. Do you still want this?"

"You are not mad?" I said in elvish, whispering so only his ear would be reached with my words. He smiled more tenderly, extending his reach to my ear. "Why should I be mad? I am but merely amazed, and very flattered, that someone as beautiful as you can want something like that from someone like me… but you dogged the question, Legolas. Do you still wish this?"

"I do not need to think, for you know the answer. This moment in time shall not torment me, but instead become something precious and valued… a reminder of what we share…" Slowly, we moved our heads closer together, easing in cautiously to test each other. We didn't quite touch—just hovered closely over each other like we were too close to a flame but willing to feel its burn. Tracing his nose over my cheek, he whispered, "What are you thinking?"

"That I want you to kiss me…please do not make me beg…"

"Legolas…" His lips gently met mine, parting them slightly to take in my breath. I exhaled softly, so overrun with warmth and love that I had but the nerve to inhale again. He moved his lips gently onto mine, knowing of my paralysis and aiding in its comfort. He whispered my name once more, then traced my teeth with his tongue.

"Aragorn," I moaned quietly, regaining composure. This time, as we searched each other, I allowed my self to kiss back. The only sound, our soft moans.

We separated when we could no longer think, parting with a sharp intake of breath. "Are you okay?" He asked, breath warm and sweet.

I could not answer, still dazed. I felt my self nod, but was unsure as to how I did it.

"That was…" he paused, and for the time it took him to find the right words, I felt panic. But it was erased just as swiftly as it arrived. "Interesting. and very pleasing."

Again, without thoughtful consent, I nodded. "Very," I murmured, far too quiet to have reached his ears. But the words did, and so did their meaning. He knew how easily elves are charmed, how but the stirring of hair in the most innocent of ways could send us reeling, how attached we get to those we care for. Romantics, he called us once, smiling. We both remembered, under the stars, staring into each other's eyes, the life we shared together, the love we know yet do not speak of, and everything the kiss celebrated. The celebration of us, and how precious we think of each other's life. The fire in his eyes was passion—for me, for the gift of life, for the time we are grateful to have shared.

"_Mellon nin,__"_ he whispered back. "_Are you okay?__"_ he repeated, not at all concerned for my wellbeing, seeing to it that he already knew how I fared. There was laughter to his voice.

There was no need for words, but I still said them, knowing that our time together is fleeting and wanting to make the best of it. "Everything is fine now." I smiled, certain for the time being that I spoke the truth. "I love you."


End file.
